Flags, and flags, so many,
On tall and tiny towers tall,
Of sail, of silk, of cotton,
Weaving their name into the wind,
Surrounded by walls of stone, of flesh,
Tears build up their moats brim,
Salty brine, lifeless, deep,
No dragons will cross,
No horse of Troy,
On aged path of moss or stone approach
Which winged angel, will call, play the lute,
Neath that tall, tall, fortified tower,
What siren song, will lilt,
Bend the ear to hear?
Lower the gates to cross?
Fly away with hidden treasures
Consigned to dungeons deep?
Share
Print
Save
Follow
You will never forget...nor should you. Stay strong.
John
cheers,
dan
Regis